


Burn A Miracle

by Damien



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, First Time, M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damien/pseuds/Damien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite his life's eccentricities, Sam follows the beaten path of teenagers to the green goddess, in his case, to a green-eyed god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before this went where it went, Sam was 10. Now, Sam is _almost_ 13; Dean is 17.

He stayed late after school, making sure he had time alone. This was one project he knew that there was serious repercussions for if he got caught. The school yard was emptying as the teen picked a picnic table away from the rest. He threw his bag onto the table, extra careful of the front pocket. When he finally decided it’s abandoned enough, he opened the front pocket of his bag and pulled out a pencil box. Inside of it wasn’t the typical school supplies, however. The skinny boy cautiously pulled a packet out of the box, removing a paper from it. The little baggie is next, a pinch of its contents spread across the paper. It rolled quickly and neatly, the roller being a quick study and having watched enough to know how to do it perfect. Another paper, another pinch, another roll, another lick, and tucked into the pencil box. He continued until the baggie was empty, tucking it and the packet of papers back into the box. He tucked the box back inside the bag, stood up without looking around, and calmly took off toward the convenience store.

In his few experiences, pot made him hungry, so buying food was a necessity. He had stolen some money from a clueless student, having picked up pickpocketing from his brother. Browsing the aisles, he made sure to be nonchalant, trying to avoid the stereotype of a shoplifter. He had never really had money of his own, his brother even rarely having money for the two of them. He grabbed a bag of chips, tucking it under his arm as he looked for something else. Next, a package of candy was added to his list. To top it off, he grabbed a bottle of soda. They were stuffed into his backpack after paying for them. It was starting to finally feel like this plan was going to come to fruition. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he started patiently walking back to the motel.

He nervously flicked the lighter, praying that it wouldn’t be noticeable outside the motel room of the week. His hands were shaking, needing some relief from his discomfort. A joint hung out of his mouth, begging to be lit. As the flame finally caught the paper, a relaxed sigh came out. A long drag of the joint led to a slight coughing fit, in turn leading to paranoia about being caught. The young Winchester took another hit, purposely avoiding looking back at the door. There was a chance, narrow as it may be, that his brother may come out. As another toke was taken, he could swear that he heard something. It may have been his brother throwing back the curtains and hitting the glass, but he isn’t sure. All he’s sure of is that he’s never needed something like this before.

“Sam, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dean yelled as he ran out of the motel room and crossed the distance between the two of them. The younger boy looked nervously at his sibling, not removing the joint from his mouth or stopping the hit he was taking. He knew he was caught, and he was going to get everything he could out of it if he could. Dean ripped the joint out of Sam’s mouth, dropping it on the ground and smushing it into the dirt to make sure Sam wouldn’t try to relight it. “Who the fuck gave you this shit?” Dean's eyes were filled with rage, softened with undertones of concern. Sam knew that his brother cared about him, but he also knew that he would tell their dad if he felt it was necessary. Sam recapped his soda, shoving it back in his bag and pulling his bag off of the hood of the nearest car. He ignored the looks from Dean as he shouldered past.

“Shhhh, Dean. It’s okay,” Sam grumbled as he flopped onto the bed, wanting nothing more than to get a few more good hits in. He was buzzing, a little hungry, but he wasn’t detached yet and that was what Sam so desperately wanted. He found few things so difficult as trying to feel comfortable knowing Dad might come home any day, or that any day might be the last day that they hear from him. Sam stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth, whining as Dean came over and picked Sam’s backpack up and threw it into the kitchenette. “Mine…” Sam managed, resting his head on his pillow.

"How did you get that stuff, Sammy? I know you didn’t get the money from Dad, and the money Uncle Bobby gave us is almost gone. There’s no way you’d be able to afford that crap _and_ pot. Don’t lie to me, Samuel Winchester.”

“Took money. The kid didn’t even notice. Rich fuck,” Sam mumbled into the pillow, suddenly aware of the ravenous need to eat everything in his bag. He flipped over, sitting up just to be able to stare at Dean. “You know that's not even my name, right?”

“Yeah, whatever Sammy. You know you shouldn’t steal money, especially for shit like that." Dean picked up the bag, rooting through it with purpose. When he finally opened the pencil box, he drew a sharp breath. “Sam…” Dean started, his voice shaking slightly. Dean took the rest of the joints and walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and a moment later Sam heard the toilet flush. “There. Now, no more. Ever.” Dean was firm, but the hypocritical nature didn’t help Sam believe he needed to follow the order. Sam had flushed drugs on Dean before; what’s to stop Dean from just pretending to have done it?

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam pulled at Dean’s jacket, positive that he didn’t actually flush the pot. Dean responded by throwing the jacket, promptly putting Sam into a headlock. Sam figured if he was willing to throw the jacket so carelessly, they probably weren’t in there. Dean also had on a plaid long sleeve shirt, one with button pockets in the front. As Sam pulled back, trying to dislodge himself, he ended up kneeing Dean in the stomach. “Ow,” Dean chuckled, climbing onto Sam’s bed to join him into a wrestling match. Sam frisked Dean's pockets, checking for cigarettes or otherwise. Since there was nothing in there, Sam earned a confused but amused look from his brother. Dean unbuttoned the overshirt for Sam, whipping it in the general direction of his jacket. Sam noticed inside the undershirt was a little bump, and up above it was a black cord around Dean’s neck. Sam lovingly pulled the cord with one finger, popping the amulet out.

"I love that you still wear this,” Sam smirked, sounding slightly condescending. Dean blushed a warm red, his eyes looking out the window. Dean aggressively pulled Sam back into the headlock, avoiding a misplaced, or well-placed, knee. Sam slid his hand carefully into Dean’s front pockets, checking for a joint but finding his hand close to something else instead. With a smug grin, Sam ran his hand over this new toy of his. Dean let out out a slight groan from the sheer contact, nervously talking under his breath to his brother. “S-Sa… Sammy… That’s... Uh... not what y-you want.” He gulped, not knowing if he should pull away and lock himself in the bathroom or if the right decision is _this_. He had thought about it before, sure, but that was a normal response to being caged up with someone for too long. Sam was like a kid to Dean, and this was like taking advantage of him. This was one line Dean knew he shouldn't cross; although, Sam acted like _he_ was taking advantage of _him_. Sam wasn’t five anymore, either. He had started growing and was obviously no longer a baby, but to Dean he might as well be.

Dean was dragged out of his thoughts when Sam aggressively ripped open Dean’s belt, making him straighten up. Dean’s knees were to the sides of Sam’s hips, giving him space to move. Dean smirked when he saw Sam pull his belt straight out of the loops in an effort to entertain himself. Sam struggled with the button on Dean’s unnecessarily tight jeans, tugging at it roughly before finally having it opened for him. The pressure of the bulge underneath made the zipper shoot open as soon as it was lowered slightly. Sam smirked, licking his lips as the fruit of his effort made itself visible. Sam may have grown up with his brother by his side, but this was one part that, if Sam had ever seen, he had mentally blocked. The tiny freckles were new to Sam, making him smile. Dean only had freckles on a few places, but the locations were adorable. Sam pushed Dean back, making him sit on his heels to give him space to move. Sam pulled his sweatshirt off, sending it to meet Dean's clothes in the kitchenette. With his newly freed arms, Sam pulled Dean down onto himself.

Lips met, Dean’s hands tangled into Sam’s hair and shirt. Sam grabbed Dean’s ass, shifting and rolling the pair of them over. As Dean’s cock meets the air and no longer is pressed against the roughness of jeans, Dean smiles wide. Sam’s smirk returned as he slid down and kissed the head right on the freckle. “Freckle.” Dean chuckled at that, affectionately ruffling Sam’s hair. He didn’t want to try to force his brother, but at the same time, light kisses were nowhere near enough friction and he needed more desperately.

“Stroke it, Sammy,” Dean said, crossing _that_ line. Sam knew that Dean was needy, knew that he wanted more, knew that he didn’t want attachments, but Dean needed so badly to be touched and loved by someone else. “Please,” Dean said. Sam accepted Dean’s need, glad for the drugs in his system for the little bit of calmness it gave. Dean groaned as he felt a hand wrap around his stiff erection, breathing out audibly when it started stroking. As Sam gently sucked on what he could, his fist ran along the rest. Hips thrusted into the younger brother’s mouth, unable to refrain. Sam ran his tongue over the underside of Dean’s penis, finding the most sensitive spot with the tip of his tongue. Light panting and occasional moans filled the room, allowing Sam to bask in the sounds of encouragement.

Sam bobbed his head, his lips meeting his fist as he tried to ignore his gag reflex. He found himself running his free hand over Dean’s abs and up as far as he could reach. Sam liked his brother’s body, but the angle was preventing him from exploring enough of it. The wifebeater Dean was wearing was pushed up, his abs showing, the few rare freckles visible. His happy trail looked immaculate, as though Dean had groomed it. Dean started panting quicker, the noises getting louder and more frequent. Sam knew from observation that Dean was close, but he didn’t know how to react. Other students had always joked around him that spitting is rude, and that swallowing is the only correct option so Sam figured he might as well oblige. Sam’s free hand found its way into Dean’s boxers, pulling out his balls and playing with them as he sucked on the cock. Dean pulled Sam’s hair lovingly, trying to make him move his head down more. Dean thrusted into Sam’s face, holding his head in place. Sam gagged slightly, fighting it because his brother had never needed something like he needed him at that moment. He needed Sam as close as he could possibly be. As Dean fucked the mouth he had fed from infancy, he felt himself yanking Sam’s hair. He moaned loudly, his other hand gripping the sheet as his hips lift off the bed. Sam took sharp breaths whenever he had an opportunity to, slurping and trying to get every drop out of his brother.

Dean finally released Sam’s head, butt dropping back down to the mattress. Sam rested his head on Dean’s denim-clad thigh. “You’re welcome.” he smirked, hopping off the bed to retrieve his food. As Sam got out of bed, Dean seized the bottom of his shirt to pull him back. Sam cupped Dean’s face and gently kissed him before trying to walk away again; Dean's grasp on his shirt made him unable to. Maybe food wasn’t so urgent; laying in bed with Dean sounded a million times better than any chips ever could.


End file.
